When Trust is Broken
by E. J. Morgan
Summary: Alternate ending to 7x2 (Proof). Spencer doesn't go to Rossi's for the party. He can't forgive so easily. Maybe, he can't forgive at all...


**When Trust is Broken**

Doctor Spencer Reid had understood from a very early age that trust was quite a funny thing: so damn hard to earn and so very easy to lose. And after losing it, even harder – if possible at all – to gain back. It was like trying to capture water with your bare hands; you did your best and you really wanted it, and still it didn't quite work and you lost in the end, no matter what.

He'd always had issues with trusting anyone. It probably come from his background as a child: a father who had left him and his sick mother alone, never to return or even ask about them ever again. A schizophrenic mother who sometimes didn't even recognize her son or remembered her own name. Who might have done her best raising her only child but that 'personal best' just happened not to be very high on the scale of objective 'good parenting'. No other family to speak of; no aunts, uncles, grandparents… nobody to turn to. Schools that competed for him because of his brains but never because of _himself_. Which institute wouldn't want a child prodigy they could boast about after all? But also: who would want to really deal with a troubled child much younger than anyone else on the school? It was their luck and Spencer's misfortune that he also happened to be so good at putting up a nonchalant façade and pretending not to have a care in the world besides studying and spouting out random facts about anything and everything at the most impossible times.

Everywhere he went, people were eager to fall for his act of the always absent-minded, never actually emotionally affected genius. The walking-talking encyclopedia that didn't have feelings and didn't understand the world around him. Someone who didn't even care about things as mundane as human relationships. Who didn't want nor need any friends because his thoughts and books were enough to occupy him.

The thing was: it was only an act, nothing more. An act he played artfully, true, and an act that he had perfected for over a decade and a half now but still: only an act. In reality, he _had_ feelings and he _could_ be sad. He didn't show it outwardly but he believed – _wanted_ to believe – that true friends knew anyways.

So, either this wasn't the case or – and that option seemed more and more probable with every passing second of thinking about things – he didn't have true friends at all and had never had them.

That realization hurt a lot but also cleared up a few previously incomprehensible aspects. Like how the hell had nobody called him on his horrible headaches that had tormented him recently or why hadn't anyone helped him with his addiction to Dilaudid after being tortured by Tobias. There was no way they hadn't noticed his struggles – they were the best profilers the FBI had to offer, for God's sake! No, they had of course noticed; they had just chosen not to worry about them and to let him deal with his problems on his own. It had simply been easier for them this way.

They hadn't cared. Just like they didn't care now about the pain they had inflicted upon him by lying through their teeth for months. It wasn't just the fact that he had mourned the death of, and buried a friend that wasn't even really dead at all. Not that it wasn't bad enough in itself, mind you… But it was also that he – stupid him! – had _trusted_ them and they had thrown it back into his face! They had probably had a few good laughs at his expense along the way as well about 'poor, naive Spence'.

He had trusted them! How could he have been so stupid!? After all the bad experiences he had had in his life already, he had gone and done it again. Some profiler and genius he was… Maybe he deserved everything he had gotten.

With that dark thought, he turned the volume of the television louder, doing his best to ignore the constant ringing of his cell that had started to make his head hurt. He could turn it off of course… as a matter of fact: he wanted to. But that would require him to get up from the couch and walk all the way to the front door where he had dumped his bag upon getting home earlier that day, and that much activity seemed absolutely impossible for his troubled mind and aching body to achieve right now.

Besides, the only responsibility he had was to always be available for when they had work to do. He knew it couldn't be that this time, since the whole team had the whole weekend off after the last case which the others were spending at Rossi's house with some 'cooking lesson' or other. He didn't know the details and didn't care either. They had tried to invite/threaten/guilt trip and bully him into participating as well, but each pitiful attempt had only strengthened his certainty that he didn't belong with them and that they didn't know him at all. After everything that had happened, cooking and eating were the lasts things on his 'to do' list.

When it had become quite obvious that they wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, he had simply remained silent so that they could believe they had convinced him and leave him alone for the remainder of the flight. Then he hadn't showed, but visited a nearby bar on his own instead. It was something he hadn't done in… well… _ever_ , actually. Now he also knew why: being drunk was a horrible feeling and he had an inkling that the hangover he'd have the next morning wouldn't be any better.

So he decided to just go to sleep and forget this whole mess at least for a few hours…

 **CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM**

Next thing he became aware of was that it had become completely dark in the living room even though he had neglected to draw the curtains. The only source of light came from the television which was merely showing static at that time and from far away outside, the lights of the night in the city. These, he usually found breathtakingly beautiful, now they merely served to irritate him. His cell had gone silent, as it had probably run out of power by now – thank God for small miracles. But then what had woken him?

 _*knock-knock_

Oh yes, a persisting knock on the door. They just couldn't leave him alone, could they!? Spencer huffed angrily as he rolled down from the couch with difficulty, having somehow ended up tangled in his blanket during his fitful sleep.

'Damn it.' – He cursed silently as he hit the floor with a muted _thump_ and realized that he had been right the night before: his headache really hadn't become any better. If something, it had worsened. Well, now at least he knew the reason behind it and could be sure it wasn't because of any mental illness he was developing. 'That ought to count for something.'

 _*knock-knock_

"Shit!" – He said to nobody and ever so slowly got to his feet. Then promptly stumbled and only came to a halt on the ground again, but not before painfully hitting his head at the edge of the coffee table. – "God, just kill me now!" – He pleaded with any higher power who would listen. Sadly, there wasn't anybody to hear him.

 _*knock-knock-knock-knock-knock_

Spencer raised his left hand to his forehead and it came away with a small amount of blood on his fingers. He winced at the pain the light touch caused; it would surely bruise soon. Just marvelous, exactly what he needed on top of everything: to give the others more leverage for teasing him. He could already hear Morgan's gleeful jokes about how he had gone and drunk himself senseless like the little, innocent kid he was.

The knock came again, this time followed by a shout.

" _Spencer, I know you're in there! I'm not going away until you let me in, even if I have to stand here, knock and shout the whole night. I don't think your neighbors would be impressed though…"_

Hotch… Of course… Who else.

Spencer lay on the floor next to the hard coffee table and desperately wanted to shout. He wanted to rage. He wanted to hit something, or preferably someone. That someone being himself. He also wanted to go back to sleep and never wake up again. But more than anything: he wanted to cry.

" _Spencer Reid, I'm giving you ten seconds to open the door and then I'm kicking it down! I'm serious!"_

The young man didn't have any doubts that Hotch would make good of his threat. Even if demolishing the poor doors was usually Morgan's job, you should never underestimate Aaron Hotchner's strength when he wanted something done. So, for lack of anything better to do, Spencer half walked- half dragged himself out into the vestibule and – after dropping his keys two times in frustration – successfully unlocked the door for his boss to enter.

The light from the corridor blinded him and he blinked owlishly at his Unit Chief, trying to shield his eyes from the intruding brightness.

"Geez!" – He said as he instinctively stepped a bit to the side to let the older man move completely inside, then immediately kicked the door closed again, sighing in relief as it became considerably darker in the apartment.

Of course, this blissful state couldn't hold out long and he hissed loudly when Hotch turned on the lamp. The man in question looked rendered speechless for a moment right upon spotting the condition his subordinate was in. Reid would have found his dumbfounded expression funny if he hadn't been in too much pain to fully comprehend what was going on. He was not used to being this slow but it made a welcome change.

"Jesus, Spencer! What happened to you?" – Exclaimed Hotch after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, in which time the young man had attempted – and failed – to walk a straight line into the kitchen for a cup of water. As it was, he had only gotten as far as hitting then bouncing off a wall towards the nearest chair and collapsing with an undignified groan into it. – "You're bleeding."

Never say that Hotch didn't have a way of stating the obvious…

"Yeah, well… Shaving accident."

"You shave your forehead in the middle of the night?"

"Sometimes."

The Unit Chief raised a half-amused eyebrow.

"In the dark?"

Now Spencer had just about reached the end of his already short patience. It _was_ in the middle of the night and the last person he wanted to entertain in his kitchen was standing right in front of him, smirking at his pitiful state, nonetheless.

"What the hell do you want me to say, Hotch? That I'm drunk and I managed to fall into a table? All right then: I am and I did! Satisfied?"

"No, actually, I'm as far from satisfied as one can get, Spencer." – The man sighed and sat down next to his young charge. The fact that the boss didn't seem surprised at his admittance angered Reid even further.

"Stop calling me Spencer! You never do and you really don't need to start now." – He spat.

Inside, he was raging. So, the man didn't even care about the one rule they had: never to profile each other. What a-

"I'm sorry. And I wasn't profiling you, _Reid_." – The older man continued sadly. How had he known…? – "It would have been obvious to anyone with half a brain. You're stumbling about, squinting in the light, lashing out and a bump is already forming on your head. Not to mention that I can smell the alcohol on you from three meters."

"I accidentally spilt some on myself." – Hotch just looked at him with an unreadable expression. – "You don't have to be here and smell it, you know. You can just go and-"

"No, I can't. One of my co-workers – a _friend_ – is suffering. My place is right next to them."

"Fabulous. Then go to them. Maybe they'll be happy to have an uninvited visitor in the middle of the night because I sure as hell am not."

"Spen— _Reid_. Please, don't pretend not to understand. You're smarter than that."

"You think? Because for me it appears as if you had no idea what I'm like. Besides, I really don't want to talk to anyone. I want to sleep. That's what normal people do during the night, right?"

The older profiler chose not to comment on that and changed the topic instead:

"We had hoped you'd come to Rossi's to spend time with the family."

"What family?"

"The team, Spen— _Reid_. The team."

"Then say that because the two words have different meanings, you know. Better not confuse them. Would you like me to recite the definitions of each? I can do it even half-dead on my feet and hungover."

"That's not necessary. However you want to call us: we waited for you and tried to call you numerous times."

"Oh, _that_ I know." – He remarked and the sarcasm wasn't lost on the other man.

"Well, you could have answered…"

"Maybe. But I didn't want to. I never said I'd go. As a matter of fact, I said I wouldn't, the others just couldn't leave me alone about it, so I gave up trying to explain. I still didn't promise anything. You really shouldn't have waited. I hope you enjoyed yourselves afterwards."

The Unit Chief got up and wetted a cloth. Spencer watched him warily from his position on the chair; he wanted to get up and stop the older man, he just couldn't gather enough energy to do so. Still, despite being his boss, Hotch shouldn't move around in his apartment as if he owned the place, damn it!

"We did, but we missed you. It would have been a great opportunity for all of us to relax and try to get over what happened." – He moved to wipe the blood of the young man's forehead but before he realized it, Spencer jumped up with a shout.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" – The young man panted and doubled over in pain.

Hotch was instantly at his side, crouching down to his level.

"Reid, stop this! I just want to help!"

"I don't need your help! Get out and let me suffer in peace!" – Now he was crying and he really didn't want to do it in front of his boss. He would never, ever drink alcohol again if he lived through this night!

"You know I can't do that, buddy."

"Why not?" – Hiccupped the young man like a small child, forgetting all he used to know about dignity.

"Because I care about you, Spencer. Yes! Spencer. I care about you and I'm not going to leave you alone in a state like that."

By now Reid had lost all his energy and collapsed to the floor once again, laying his throbbing head onto the cold tiles.

"Just go home to your son, Hotch. Jack needs his father. Don't leave him like I was left. Believe me: you don't want him to feel abandoned like that."

The older man rubbed his back soothingly.

"I'm never going to leave my son, Spencer. But he's at his aunt's, sleeping peacefully. I put him to bed before going to Rossi's and I know he's fine. He doesn't feel abandoned. Now I'm more concerned about you. Do you think you can stand up?"

"No. I don't want to."

"You really can't stay here. You'll catch a cold."

"So? Who cares?" – He shrugged but winced at the same time. Super, even that little movement hurt now.

"We all do. We're all very worried about you. Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, Emily and JJ-"

Reid snorted angrily.

"Oh, yeah, now they're all worried. It figures. Especially Jareau. Of course, it is like her and Prentiss to want me to go to a merry get-together and act as if everything were just peachy to put their fragile little coincidences to ease so that _they_ can sleep soundly. My real feelings don't matter as long as everyone can pretend it's all fine. Well, you know what, I'm not going to make it that easy on any of you anymore!"

"Spencer-"

"It's Agent Reid or Doctor Reid, or even just simply Reid. Your choice but not anything else. And I'm done with sugarcoating the truth just so that the 'team' can look like a big, loving, fluffy family! Next, you'll want us to hold each other's hands while happily running down a hill and singing a song about birds and clouds and sunshine! But guess what, Hotch? This is not a musical. This is real life and it sucks. It really does. There's no miraculous happy ending here, just the cold truth. I have already learnt it the hard way and the sooner you do too, the better for you. Then maybe you won't get as disappointed as me."

Hotch had already given up trying to help the young man to his feet and had contented himself with the fact that his subordinate was now at least sitting up and leaning against a wall instead of lying down. But he was also breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon and looked ready to pass out. On top of everything, the Unit Chief had finally really started to understand what had been in front of him for a long time now: this fragile young man – more like a boy, really – was hurting so very deep and so very much, most of this hurt caused by the only people he had trusted, that no 'pep-talk' would solve it in a matter of hours or even days.

No, this was so much worse than that, and for the first time since the anthrax-case, he really feared they'd lose the young genius forever.

"Would you please sit back onto the chair if I promise not to touch you at all; unless you ask me for help?" – He took the lack of protest as a cue to continue. – "There's something I would like to discuss with you. It's work-related. After that, I'll leave, if that's what you want. I swear."

"If it's work-related, shouldn't we discuss it during working hours though? Then I wouldn't be able to say 'no' to it anyway."

"True. And I apologize for the intrusion whole-heartedly. But I actually want you to have the option of saying 'no' at any time during the conversation, and because of that, maybe it's a good thing we're not in the Bureau."

This captured Reid's attention. His boss wanted to really talk _with_ him, and not just talk _to_ him, telling him what would happen in no-nonsense terms? Well, he really didn't want to do it now but the man was already here, so… they might as well try to talk.

He heaved himself up with difficulty and true to his word, Hotch never moved to assist him, even if he did look like he had to forcefully restrain himself from doing so. Spencer had to admit: being taken seriously and trusted on the matter meant a lot. It had certainly caused the young man to try a more respectful approach towards the older man.

"So, what would you like to talk with me about, sir?"

Seeing that the younger agent was all right for now, Hotch took a seat in front of him at the other end of the table; far enough not to make his companion feel trapped or intimidated in any way.

"There are lots of things I would like to talk with you about; lots of which, I'm afraid, I might have already lost the privilege to do so, as they would require a trust you don't have in me anymore. I can't express how very sorry I am and I take full responsibility for my shortcomings." – He paused for a few moments and Spencer couldn't really decide if the man was waiting for some kind of reaction from him, or just gathering his thoughts. Since he couldn't deny what had been said but didn't want to further kick the man he had admitted to a mistake (he knew it was not easy and despite everything, respected the courage it must have taken), he chose to remain quiet and let his boss do this at his own pace. He didn't need to wait long. – "For now I would like you to know first of all that JJ didn't mean what she said about your profiling skills back in the office. It was an incredibly hurtful comment and she's very sorry about it. Please, even if you don't believe anything else; believe that. I know she had wanted to tell you so herself today at the party."

Reid sighed.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything!" – Hotch had said that so quickly that Spencer had to smile fondly at a memory from a much happier time. Back then, preparing to enter a wagon that had held a delusional psychopath waving around a gun at the hostages, he had asked if they could do him a favor. His Unit Chief had been just as quick to assure him then as he had done now. Some things never change. But some others do, and he quickly lost the smile just by thinking about how long ago it had been and how the team had changed since then, along with his life he had thought had finally become happy. Oh, how naïve he had been!

"It might sound unbelievable, me being a profiler and all, but I still have trouble reading people's emotions and interpreting their actions most of the time. Well, any time we're not talking about an UnSub… Anyway. I actually had an inkling from the very beginning that JJ didn't mean _that_. Not really. But then why say it? I just can't get it. Did she do it to hurt me?"

Hotch thought about his answer for a moment, not wanting to rush it and involuntarily say something that would make things worse instead of better. He somehow had a feeling he couldn't rely on what he had known about the young man before him until now.

"You know, Reid… It's never this simple in an argument. Yes, in a way you could say she said it to hurt you. There were lot of hurtful things thrown around in that argument in a very short time. We could call it impressive if it weren't so sad. She didn't mean that comment any more than you would have really blamed her if you had started using Dilaudid again. Before you try to deny it: I know you didn't really want to burden her with the guilt of that. There are other things you want her to feel guilty about and you could argue that, since she didn't seem guilty enough to you about them, you just said the thing that you knew would deliver the hardest blow for the same effect. Isn't that right?" – Spencer couldn't answer, he just hung his head in shame. He blamed JJ for everything about Emily's case but not for Dilaudid. Never that. – "It was the same with her. She had tried to explain her actions to you and you didn't accept her reasons. It seems logical to her and she honestly feels she couldn't have done anything differently. That he had done her best under the circumstances. I'm not judging here and I told you: I'm willing to take full responsibility. I'm just trying to tell you what she felt and why she said what she did."

"I understand. I asked. Go on."

"Well, I believe you both said things you didn't mean and these things are the ones that hurt the most. I just wish… I would like you to only feel the anger about what really happened. I can understand that. But please, try to forget what really wasn't meant to be said."

"I'll try. It sounds logical. But it's still not much better because I'm still very angry and hurt and betrayed about being lied to and then kept in the dark. About Emily and about the subsequent investigation that was done by Morgan and Garcia. It seems to me like nobody trusts me enough to tell me what's going on."

"That's not true, Spe- I'm sorry. Reid. Listen, I know that things haven't been the best lately and yes, there have been many secrets. I hate it too and we'll all have to work it out among ourselves. All of us. It's not just you who has a problem with that; the others are angry and feel betrayed as well. There's not one person on our team who knew about everything going on."

"No, but I'm the only one who didn't know about anything. You, JJ and Emily had your secrets while Morgan and Garcia had theirs, eventually including JJ as well. So, I'd say, it's JJ again with the most guilt."

"At the end, everyone was included. But even form your point of view: that leaves you and Dave. You're the two innocents here. I understand how it would make you feel frustrated but I must admit: I'm also glad we didn't manage to corrupt everyone. Believe it or not: none of us are proud of what we did and it nearly cost us all our jobs."

"Yeah, me too. I wasn't spared _that_ humiliation, so don't be so relieved about it. Facing an inquiry won't be on the list of my favorite things to do, I can assure you. And Rossi doesn't care about anything that's going on with us."

"That's not true, S- Reid. You're really being unfair here."

"Now who's unfair-" – Hotch held up his hands in a placating way and Reid took a deep breath. – "My apologies. We agreed not to argue."

"I'm sorry too. But it's not true, I mean it. Dave cares a lot about the team."

"Then I might have to rephrase it: he doesn't care about _me_. I get it that he cares about the others."

"He cares about you a lot more than you would think. He is just not the coddling type of person, unless he feels someone really needs it and would appreciate it, like he did with Seaver in the beginning. That doesn't mean he doesn't care. But I think he can feel that you're a bit… distant with him."

"I'm not…"

"Yes, you are. Ever since you've been over your little star-struck phase…" – Hotch smiled to show he didn't want to offend the younger man. – "… you've never shown much interest in him on a personal level and never indicated you would welcome any interest from him. I don't know if I'm betraying his confidence by telling you this; I hope I'm not; but I happen to be certain he has noticed it and tries to honor your wish even if he's saddened by it. He has tried to talk to you, I'm sure you noticed, on countless times but he always felt by these occasions like there was a barrier you didn't want to cross with him and then he always left it at that. It's your call, Reid, not his."

"Wow… I never noticed. I told you: I'm rubbish with this stuff." – Spencer whispered. He actually felt a bit bad, though he was sure he wouldn't have been able to change things even if he had been aware of Rossi's feelings from the beginning. – "Please, tell him that my not attending his party has absolutely nothing to do with him. In this whole mess he's the only one I'm not angry with." – He admitted.

"He knows that, don't worry about it. He didn't take this personally, I promise."

"Good. I'm glad. Ahm… would you like a cup of water or something?"

"No, thanks. I'm good. Should I help you get one?"

"No. I can do it."

"All right." – Hotch said saddened again. He had thought they had made at least some headway but, judging by the fact that Spencer still wasn't ready to accept any kind of help from him, even in such a small matter as getting water, showed just how wrong he had been. The boy was clearly just humoring him for the time being, that was all.

That left Hotch sighing dejectedly and watching helplessly as the young man he considered a dear friend staggered to the cabinet and went through the long and anguishing task of pouring himself water and getting back to his chair. But at least the water seemed to help him a bit.

"I'll never drink again." – He promised absentmindedly, not addressed to Hotch but rather to himself.

"Will you tell me why you did it?"

"I needed it. At least I thought so at the time." – That was as good an explanation as any, he found.

"And did you?" – Inquired Hotch further to which the young man only shrugged. – "Listen, there's something… I heard… Ahm…" – Spencer stared in awe, he had literally never seen his boss at loss for words. – "I got a call from Strauss." – The man explained.

"Ah."

"I guess you have a notion what about, don't you?"

"I might have a faint idea, yes."

"She said you were the only one who didn't request to be reinstated as a member of the BAU when we were suspended. I don't want to go on about how much it hurt to hear it. How it hurt even more to hear it from Strauss of all people and not from you. I just would like to understand. Please; can you explain?"

"Because I feel guilty about what happened in the end. So many people died because of something I suggested… It was right of them to suspend me and thus I couldn't ask for it to be lifted."

"Your suggestion solved the case, Spenc- Reid! Never think anything else! Those people would have died anyway. If not by our fire, then they'd have killed each other. But the child is safe and Emily doesn't have to fear anymore. We eliminated an international criminal with your idea!" – Hotch didn't understand how the young man could blame himself when he should be proud! Did he always beat himself up about things that weren't his fault? How had he not noticed it before?

"That doesn't matter. I'm not sure I belong on the team anyway. And I don't feel like you all are sure I belong there with you either." – He admitted out loud for the first time ever. It was strangely liberating to have gotten it out finally. Maybe alcohol did have its advantages after all: it had considerably loosened his tongue.

"WHAT!? Spencer! I mean: Reid! You're not being serious, are you?"

"Oh, I'm being totally serious, Hotch. You see: you don't trust me. NO! Don't try to deny it, just listen to me!" – He quickly stopped the other man's upcoming protest. – "You don't trust me and now I don't trust you anymore either. How could this work? We're supposed to be a team but now all I can see are the shattered remains of what we once had. If you're all good with that, I'm glad, but I can't and don't want to be a part of that."

It required all the self-discipline he'd had for Hotch to hold back the tears that were already clouding his vision and furiously threatening to fall. Were the things really that bad for the young man in front of him? That surely hadn't happened in just a few days… But then when?

"Reid… This team… this family. Or circle of friends… Whatever you want to call it, but you must admit: we're way more than just colleagues. This… group of people all belong together. And if we have problems it's just because it's normal with everything we go through together daily; with everything we have to deal with regularly. Just like in a marriage. It's a lie when someone says it's never difficult, because it is. But people can resolve the problems, Spe- Reid. They can."

"Or they can divorce and just go their separate ways and be done with it." – Pointed out the young agent. – "I think that's what happens most of the time." – Hotch gave a strangled-kind of hiccup at that. – "Sorry…" – Mumbled Spencer upon realizing what he had just said. – "But it's true though: people can't always resolve their problems and sometimes they choose to rather run away from them. Like my father. Like Elle. And like Gideon…"

"And do you really think that's the right solution?"

"No. But I do think sometimes it's the only one. When you're not strong enough to fight any more you either kill yourself or run away."

"K- kill yourself?"

"That happens." – Shrugged the younger man nonchalantly and took another sip of the water, mostly so that he wouldn't have to look Hotch in the eyes. – "We've seen our fair share of that, haven't we?"

"Have you ever… You know… Thought about it…?"

"I'm sorry Hotch but I'm really not comfortable talking with you about that. If you don't mind." – This was answer enough for the boss and another stab at his soul at the same time. The boy could be cruel.

"Reid, do you still miss Gideon? Is that why you don't want to let Rossi close? You don't want him to take Gideon's place? You're afraid he'd abandon you too if you'd let him close? Or is there a bit of resentment that he took Gideon's place on the team?"

"Of course not. It's not his fault that Gideon left. I just don't want to make the same mistake again, that's all."

"But…"

"I'm really tired, Hotch. Sorry, but have we talked about everything you wanted? I guess the most important question for you was my staying or leaving, wasn't it? I can tell you, that I honestly don't know yet what I want to do but I'm seriously considering leaving right now and I have looked into my options – they're quite good inside the FBI by other units as well as outside of it. I could write, teach, research… I'm sorry I didn't come to you with it and I know that you specifically asked to be notified about anything like this happening first, but in light of recent events… I didn't feel like I could go to you. And I really do not wish to hurt your feelings but I still don't want to discuss it with you. You're, of course, in liberty to just kick me out yourself and if you do, I'll accept it. Otherwise, I'll let you know what I'll decide when the time comes."

Hotch, for the umpteenth time that night, was totally at loss for words. He desperately wanted to say something – anything – to make things easier for the young man. To help. But he just didn't know how to do this. He had no idea. For the second time since he had become Unit Chief, he didn't know where to begin helping someone on his team. He had failed with Elle and that had hurt a lot, and now it looked like it was about to be repeated. But at least back then he had Gideon to help him… Gideon… Oh, God. Everything had begun then. When Gideon had left that young boy who had considered him a father figure, without as much as a goodbye in person, letting him find a suicide note alone. He had brought the boy into the BAU right out of the Academy, with all the special permissions imaginable. Had offered to guide him, promised to teach him everything not just what an agent needed but what a _man_ needed to know. He had become his mentor who looked out for him, talked with him, played chess with him… And then he had left and Hotch hadn't been enough to fill the void, he could see it now. Maybe, if he had tried harder. If he had noticed this sooner. Maybe then all this could have been prevented. But it was too late now. Now he couldn't do anything anymore. His help was not welcome.

"I'm honestly very sorry, Reid. About everything. I hope with all my heart you'll find it in yourself to forgive us and give us another chance. I hope you'll be able to trust us and our team will become a family again. I hope… But it doesn't matter what I hope. I'll let you have your rest now. Please, do take care of your wound and put ice on that bump. And if your head will hurt… I mean, longer than what a hangover justifies, then please, seek medical help."

"I will. Thank you, Hotch. For understanding me. It means a lot."

"It's just a bit late for it, right?"

"Just a bit… It's still good. So, thank you again."

This time Spencer managed to stand up a bit easier and the two men shook hands. The Unit Chief then left with a last mournful glance at his (still) subordinate and the young man locked the door behind the boss.

 **CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM**

Reid had immediately collapsed into bed afterwards but Hotch stood on the corridor for a long time, thinking. He glanced at his watch: 4:18 AM. Very early to call someone on a Sunday, especially after a party. And yet, he had a feeling the person he wished to talk to wouldn't have hard feelings because of it. Having made up his mind, he dialed the number he needed as soon as he had exited the building.

The phone was picked up before the second ring.

"Garcia. I need you to find Jason Gideon for me. I don't care if he's hiding away on the very top of the Mount Everest. Tell him, it's an emergency. We need him to come back as soon as possible.


End file.
